


Can I Even Do This?

by TempusNoKitsune



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, Confessions, Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley-centric (Good Omens), Crying, Emotionally Repressed, Hugs, Hurt Crowley, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), Love Confessions, M/M, Mutual Pining, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Other, Pining, Poor Crowley, Protective Aziraphale (Good Omens), Snake Crowley (Good Omens), Snogging, Soft Crowley (Good Omens), Worried Aziraphale (Good Omens), can be read as asexual relationship, soft, they get a little carried away
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-06
Updated: 2020-01-06
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:40:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22148059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TempusNoKitsune/pseuds/TempusNoKitsune
Summary: He hugged his chest tightly and blew out a long, foggy breath. Now there was nothing for it. He couldn’t stop thinking about it. In truth, he had been thinking about it nearly since his beginning, but his careful compartmentalization had only begun to break down in the last 11 years.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 16
Kudos: 221





	Can I Even Do This?

Crowley shuffles his feet, and shoves his hands deeper into his pockets. When he lets out a long breath, just shy of a sigh, a cloud erupts from his mouth and slowly dissipates into the air. The temperature has kept a lot of people inside, but he had to get out of his apartment, even if it means freezing to death. Actually, at this point it might be a welcome end.

He kicks aimlessly at the gravel path of the park, moving sluggishly along until he comes up on a frosted bench. It’s not going to be a comfortable place to rest, but the cold is making his bones ache and he plops down onto the wooden seat. Immediately the icy wetness from the wood soaks up through the denim clinging to his skin. His teeth chatter and he leans forward towards his knees tries not to think about the fact that he looks like a jittery black turtle. 

It hardly helps that his eyes are still vaguely glassy and there feels to be something caught in his throat, right at the spot where the popped collar of his pea coat brushes rather sharply. He’s not altogether familiar with the feeling of choking or nausea, but he assumes that this is a fair mixture of them both. 

As is usual with winters on the island, the sun hasn’t dropped far in the sky, but it’s barely even shining with the heavy darkened clouds shrouding the sky. They hung heavily over the city, but nothing had quite yet broken and the cold moisture permeated the air as more of a threat than anything else. 

Good to see that the Earth hasn’t changed its nasty weather even after potentially being obliterated by any heavenly or hellish force that could get its hands on it. Maybe that was a good thing though, that everything was just...normal. At least in most ways. 

Crowley’s life has always been anything but normal and he can admit that, he can own up to it, but he doesn’t have to enjoy it every step of the way. In fact, where he thought that he may have found more happiness and freedom after cutting major ties with Hell, he’s found that he’s enjoying life even less. He feels trapped and his emotions are haywire. He’s never been one for order, or for following orders, but now he’d give his left foot just to have something as simple as a stupid temptation to distract himself. 

He’d never really had any trouble finding things to do with himself before. There’d always been facets of humanity to explore and have fun with. There are still, now, but they hold no extended appeal as they used to. Everything he does he feels falls short. 

He lets his forehead touch his knees and clenches his teeth against a particularly strong and full bodied shudder. 

Maybe it’s that he was carefree in a way. What he did and didn’t do mattered less...most of the time. He was expected to misbehave, so any and everything that he did that was off, odd, unsavory, or inconvenient was justified and sometimes even praised. The “good” things he did could be kept quiet or ignored, usually by himself. 

He hugged his chest tightly and blew out a long, foggy breath. Now there was nothing for it. He couldn’t stop thinking about it. In truth, he had been thinking about it nearly since his beginning, but his careful compartmentalization had only begun to break down in the last 11 years. 

In this last one, the one that was meant to be the end of everything, his life began to fracture and fall apart before his eyes. His time, his profession, his hobbies, his reputation, everything that he has so painstakingly built up, not only for others but also for himself, over the millennia was crashing down over him. 

Crowley let out a little sound that’s an odd mix between a cough, a growl and a sob. The card that collapsed the tower was the bookshop fire. How could it not be?

As much as Crowley was an independent individual, there was a certain sort of exception made for Aziraphale. In fact, there had been such a thing from the very beginning. The moment on the wall, one of the first things that he could so very clearly remember, would change the person that he was going to be. He thinks, looking back, that he may have fallen for the angel in that very moment.

At the time it was more curiosity than anything else. Everything that he had been told about angels, and everything that he had tried to prepare himself for, were all dashed when the Guardian of the Eastern Gate made no attack on him. There was some discomfort, sure. However, it was in those mere minutes of their first meeting that it seemed like their souls decided they were meant to intertwine. 

It didn’t take long for Crowley to relish and luxuriate in the angel’s presence. There was an awkward feeling at first, and the uncertainty that came with internally warring with himself and understanding the inherent danger and divide between the two of them. As the arrangement came to fruition there were more reasons to meet and seek out one another. They got into the habit of drinking and eating with one another, and Crowley was already irrevocably attached by the time that he realised it for himself.

He’d recognized and slowly accepted his unique care for the angel in the 1500’s, but only identified the growth of these feelings to something more serious in the 1700’s. Crowley couldn’t put the name “love” to anything, couldn’t even think about the word without violently spiraling downwards until well into the 1910’s. By that time he would slip up in his thoughts frequently enough that he had no choice but to accept the truth of the word. The feeling took leaps and bounds after it was properly acknowledged. It consumed him, and so he fought viciously to distract himself with anything he could. Art, research, technology, alcohol, botany, astronomy, and anything else that he could find more than a passing interest in. He even hopped around a couple of universities for a few years, coming away with more than a couple diplomas. The papers are hidden away in his desk, and every once in a while he kicks back in his throne and calls himself Dr. Anthony J Crowley. 

When the antichrist arrived in 2008 his nerves lit with panic. The constant adrenaline kept him running, but spending the next 6 years working and in close contact with the love of his life didn’t do great things for his attempts to hide whatever he could of his extended affections for the angel.

He slowly sat up and reclined back against the bench, letting a wave of cold air wash over him as his head tipped back and his neck made uncomfortable and awkward contact with the cold wood. He searched the clouds for something, anything at all, but came up short as freezing and stinging tears squeezed themselves from his eyes.

When he saw the bookshop burning there was no question and no need to even think about going in. The last thing that he had said to the angel was that he would leave and never think about him ever again. This, of course, was a blatant lie. He had no intention of going anywhere that Aziraphale wasn’t, and he would think of Aziraphale just as much if not even more than he did everyday. 

Everything was burning, and all of the smells that he had begun to associate with safety and home were sour and ashy. They smelt like hell. He didn’t feel the heat, couldn’t have even if he thought about it. He was so overwhelmingly numb and panicked. Being hit by the high pressure stream of water from the fire trucks was something of a wake-up and pulled him out of his frenzied search and stage of denial enough to get him up and out of there. 

The world might as well have turned black and white. Was anything even worth it without Aziraphale? It was the very first time that he had even had to entertain the thought of living without him. 

He spent the next couple of hours at the bar, breathing in bottle after bottle until the numbness faded from that of shock and sadness, to simple and familiar nothingness. Crowley had to think very seriously about a couple of things, and while he may have been drunk, he wasn’t sloshed enough to be unable to think about them. 

He loved humanity. He loved them so unconditionally and so much that he didn’t have to think all too much about whether he was going to continue to try to at least delay the apocalypse, even if it was the untimely and harsh end of him. He might as well go down fighting for the beings that deserved it more than anything else. It took only moments more to decide that he also had no desire to continue living on if Aziraphale wouldn’t be with him. That whatever he would do, he would do it as a final act and he would do it for the both of them.

Of course, that ended up not having to be the case, as Aziraphale would show up to him minutes later and they would both go on to meet at the airfield that would present them with the beginning of the rest of their lives. At least for now. 

The only downfall of this came personally. Both he and Aziraphale were traitors, and would be treated as such by their respective employers. Thankfully the angel was incredibly intelligent and was able to figure out the last of the prophecies about the end of times. As close as they were to the end, they had a fight that night. It was the last thing that Crowley wanted for what could have been their last moments together, but he couldn’t just let Aziraphale go to hell. 

He fought as much as he could, but there was hardly a time when he couldn’t give in to Aziraphale. Ultimately everything seemed to go well- or at least as well as they could have gone. They celebrated and then retired, both for the night and from their “jobs.”

Since then they had resorted something back to the way that they had been doing things for the last 5 years. They met frequently and spent their time with one another leisurely and what seemed like happily. But for Crowley, everything was still crumbling down, down, down. The cherry on top was the deep feeling of relief and renewed and invigorated love that he couldn’t ever reveal.

Aziraphale had made his own thoughts very clear, many, many times. But as long as the angel would allow their friendship he would milk it for all that it was worth. If it left him broken and tight chested every time he went home, so be it. Unfortunately, even Crowley could only take it for so long. 

The tears had made little river-like tracks down his face, wetting the shaded sides of his glasses and dropping down onto the collar of his coat. He snuffled and gave himself a little kick to heave himself up to his feet. He went from slumping backwards over a bench to slumping forward with his shoulders hunched whilst standing up. He tries for an even and normal gait but ends up reverting back to a tight and tired shuffle.

Everything ached and walking gave him pins and needles up and down his back. He wouldn’t be able to make it all the way back to his flat by walking, but he couldn’t garner up enough energy to miracle himself there instead. His mind went blissfully blank, more focus on his creaking and protesting bones than anything else, until he looked up to see that his feet had carried him to the bookshop. 

The big A. Z. Fell and Co, sign hung over him, gently mocking him for his hesitancy and pain. He grimaced at it and finally found the energy to use the ends of his rough woolen sleeves to wipe as many tears away from his face as he could. 

The sign in the door had been flipped to closed, and he could tell without getting any closer that the door would be locked. He wondered for a moment if his presence would be unwelcome, if Aziraphale was relishing in some quiet time alone, before he decided that it didn’t much matter. He could be quiet and disappear into the back room if need be, but he had to get out of the cold one way or another, and certainly before his internal temperature dropped to much that he was forced into a sleeping serpent form without his consent. 

There was a little jingle as the tiny bell above the door announced his presence. It was a small sound, but supernatural beings had acute hearing, so it would be more than enough.

“Crowley? Is that you?”

There’s a small ruckus out of his view of sight, and he drags his feet along until he can see Aziraphale making a fuss over gently laying down the ledger that he had been writing in, and placing the book he had been working with to the side. Crowley can’t help the small smile that quirks up the side of his mouth. 

The angel turns around, a gentle smile on his own face that drops almost immediately upon seeing the demon. He must look bad. Not that he was trying to hide anything away like he usually would.

Aziraphale steps forward and gently grabs his elbows, guiding him slowly to the couch that Crowley had made something of his own over the years. 

“My dear boy, whatever's the matter?” There’s a quilt that may be nearly 200 years old that goes from being draped over the sofa’s back to sitting comfortably over his shoulders. “You’re absolutely freezing! What were you doing out in that weather?”

Crowley looks up at him, just taking his his face, his gentle features and shining eyes. He didn’t care much for the pinched look of concern to twist the beautiful angel’s features, but the gentleness exuded from the feeling helped to warm his insides over, even if just a bit. It’s the mixture of the view of him, whole and real and safe right there, and the castle of sand crashing down on top of him that bursts the dam built up for millennia. He couldn’t control himself, couldn’t do anything to stop the torrent of tears and harsh sobs that tore themselves from him.

“Oh, Crowley.” 

He doesn’t think that Aziraphale has ever seen him properly cry. He was always very intentional to be alone when he did so. The angel is very obviously shocked, but something that must be an instinct takes over so quickly that Crowley finds himself not only bundled up in a blanket, but being held by the strong and endlessly warm arms of the angel that meant more to him than anything else. 

The sudden jostling sends his glasses clattering to the floor, but that hardly matters as it gives him the chance to bury his face into Aziraphale’s shoulder. He heaves with sobs and shakes with the intensity of his sadness and fear and anger and love.

They stay there for minutes, or hours, or days. It doesn’t really matter. For the first time they are completely and totally alone with one another. Joined together in an embrace of complete and utter emotion. At least for Crowley. The thought alone brings on a new wave of tears, but the angel never pulls away or leaves him wanting. There’s gentle soothing noises, and despite what started as something slightly tense on the angel’s part, the connection has loosened and developed into a comfort of closeness. 

Aziraphale shushes him quietly and rubs light little circles into his back, and as the tears and uncontrollable shakes begin to weaken, Crowley almost doesn’t want it to end if it means that he is going to loose this. 

“I’m sorry.” He says into the angel’s vest. It’s hardly more than a hoarse whisper, but he knows that he’s heard. 

Crowley makes a sad and tired noise as Aziraphale pulls himself away, holding Crowley at arms length with hands set on his shoulders. 

“No need to be sorry, dear.” The angel lets out a long breath. It’s not really a sigh, but seems more as though he’s begging to brace himself for something. He’s likely not wrong to do so. “Now, will you tell me what it is that’s got you all worked up?”

Crowley winces and leans back to struggle out of the blanket and his coat. As nice as it is being warm now, it’s quickly giving him the feeling of being in a straight jacket. Aziraphale leaves him be as he strips down to his long sleeved shirt, and helps him to pull up and readjust the quilt. He gives a tired little shudder, partially from the rapid changes in temperature, but mostly because of what’s just happened. 

After such a heavy crying session he’s exhausted, and feels this sort of numbness to the voices screaming at him to get himself together. Save face and pull his walls back up as quickly as possible. But maybe this is the time. Aziraphale is more open than he’s ever been, and maybe that’s just the shock, but Crowley’s not completely sure that he  _ can _ shove all of this back down.

“Everything.” He starts, and his voice is a bit lower and breathier than usual, but he thinks he can be forgiven for that considering the circumstances. “It’sss all been a lot hasssn’t it?”

Aziraphale hums, his head tilting slightly to the side. He moves to pull his hands back from Crowley’s shoulders, but he grabbed onto the angel’s wrists and held them there. He surprises himself with the movement and forwardness, and Aziraphale’s eyes widen, but his hands squeeze gently on the sharp, bony, shoulders beneath them. 

He hates the little whimper that it pulls out of him, but considering that he’s just left tear stains on the angel’s century’s old clothing, it’s not the worst that he’s done tonight. 

“I don’t want to losssssse you again.” He admits quietly. And that’s the big thing standing in the way isn’t it? He’s only really just gotten Aziraphale back, and he could hardly bear to have to leave him now. To live a life without him would be torturous, but possible as long as he knew that the angel was alive. If that was what it came down to with this he’d give himself no choice but to respect the other’s wishes, but it’s what made the words, the confession, stick as a heavy lump in his throat.

“Oh, darling. You won’t lose me, and I won’t lose you. Not now, and not ever again.”

Crowley tried to smile at this, but found that it just made him more somber and uncomfortable. He fists one hand in the quilt, and lifts the other to gently touch Aziraphale’s face. They’d never been this close whilst being this gentle, and if the angel hadn’t looked worried enough before, he would certainly have peaked in exuding the feeling now. 

His mouth twitches and he only barely staves off another wave of sobs and tears. 

He mouths the words first. He’s shaky and it’s obvious that despite his efforts, Aziraphale can’t read his lips. 

Crowley has never said the words aloud before. Never tried them on his tongue. Never choked them out from the charred depths of his heart, where the tiny shining flame of pure and unadulterated good lived. 

“I…-ou…” Better and worse. He made noises, his mouth formed the words, but they didn’t quite make it all the way. His hand shook as he cupped the angel’s face, and he has half the mind to be surprised when Aziraphale doesn’t immediately flinch or pull away.

He pulls in a deep and ragged breath. His eyes have bled gold, and he’s sure that if he were to speak more sibilant leaning words his hiss would take over in a soft ambient noise behind his voice. It was an embarrassing thing that appeared when he forgot himself or was under severe stress or distress. He bites down on the tip of his tongue, the tiny split caught one side by each of his elongated canines. 

If he’s going to do this, he needs to do it soon, before he loses the numbness and heart that he’s got in this moment. 

“I love you.”

It sounds so plain to his ears when he says it. It’s just three words for an endless feeling that reaches depths that can’t be unearthed or explained with words alone. 

Aziraphale seems frozen in place, eyes wide as silence falls over and between them. Crowley lets his hand drop away from the angel’s face, and grinds his teeth together. 

It doesn’t feel like enough, can’t hold a candle to the truth that lies beneath and sits heavy in his breast. However, based on the continued silence they may have been enough...or more than. The feelings go from roaring out and bubbling up to beginning to shy away, falling back behind the tumbled rubble of his protective walls.

“I’m sorry.” He says again, and this time he has more of his voice back, which probably makes it sadder that he sounds so small and whisper-y.

Aziraphale blinks hard a few times. Eyes scrunching up and refocusing like his brain has to boot back up.

The angel shakes his head. “What in the world are you apologising for?”

Crowley winces and drops his eyes down to the space between him, catching on the wrinkles stretching through the angel’s khaki pants, over his plump thighs. He wants to brush the ridges, and rest his hand there to feel the warmth. To be lightly possessive and find a stability in one another in a gentle and intimate way. He tears his eyes away.

“I shouldn’t….I-”

“Darling, please look at me?” This time it’s Aziraphale who cups Crowley’s chin, and he’s helpless to the tilting motion. 

“Mmhh?”

The angel smiles at him. Tiny, mouth closed, pink lipped smile. He wonders briefly if his body’s just gone ahead and turned itself into a snake as his bones feel like they’ve turned to jelly. 

“I’m sorry for having given you the impression that’s something you have to be sorry for. Maybe it would have been even just a year ago, to say such a thing aloud.” Aziraphale’s thumb brushes up to the corner of his mouth. “It’s terrifying, and I’ve thought so since I realised myself that you felt for me more than just a platonic feeling. I’m a bit embarrassed to say that it took me quite a long time to parse out that the constant aura of love that exuded from you was not simply the way that your aura felt, but you’re genuine...well, love!”

The smile goes a bit sad, and Crowley isn’t quite sure that this is real life. He feels frozen and stunned and a little bit sick to his stomach. 

“It scared me so much at first. I didn’t know what it meant, that you could love me so purely. I didn’t know what would happen if I acknowledged it, or if we were to even do so little as to talk about it aloud. I was worried about heaven and hell, and what it would mean for a demon and an angel to have more than just a friendship.”

Crowley’s head moves just the slightest fraction up and down. He’s had these thoughts before, both for himself and for Aziraphale. 

“When I realised that my own feelings for you had gone beyond the platonic, I became even more frightened, and I’m afraid that I did a very good job at putting more space between us to make up for what I’d recognized.” The angel sighs. “But now things are different. Nothing changes all at once, but I...have no reason to continue in the way I’ve done.”

Crowley opens and closes his mouth a couple of times and only comes out with an embarrassingly high pitched squeaking sound. 

Aziraphale looks away for a moment, and when his eyes return to meet Crowley’s own there’s a hard set determination there. 

“I love you too, Crowley.”

“Wha-hngauuuh?”

Crowley wobbles a bit, blinking owlishly as Aziraphale’s face begins to slowly redden. His brain had been quite a bit behind as the angel was speaking, clinging on to everything and working to put the words together for something that he could explain to himself. A confession of love right back was the very last thing to even cross his mind, so he’s lost in a bit of a tailspin as all of his perceptions are turned on their head. 

“Can you-” He pauses, squeezing his eyes closed and giving his head a little shake before trying again. “Can you sssaay...say that again?”

Aziraphale’s bottom lip juts a bit and the hand on his chin clenches, though not uncomfortably tightly. 

“I..” Those lovey blue eyes are shiny and Crowley makes a surprised little noise when a tear streaks down one of those plump red cheeks. “I love you, Crowley. I’m so-”

He moves before he really thinks about it, whisked away by his soaring heart. Their lips meet more forcefully than he means for them to, and the angel freezes beneath him as he slips shaky hands around his waist. He can feel his core shaking as he gently squeezes the flesh beneath his hands and then regrets it as Aziraphale jumps at the feeling. He leans back quickly. 

“Sssory- I’m- I ssshouldn’t have done that.”

“No!” Aziraphale nearly shouts and grabs at him with both hands now, keeping the one on his face and using the other to pull him in by the back of his head. Their lips meet again but this time the forcefulness of the angel’s grasp has their teeth crashing against one another. It hurts just a bit, and the angel goes to pull back, but Crowley digs his fingertips into the crushed velvet of Aziraphale’s vest and tilts his head to adjust the kiss. Their lips slide against one another in gentle movements, and Aziraphale responds enthusiastically this time. 

Shivers run up Crowley’s spine and he makes a low noise, perhaps more like a growl than anything else- which is surprising given the high pitched mousey noises he’s been making so far. This noise rumbles from deep in his chest, and is met with a soft noise moaned into his mouth. Even the thought is enough to heat him up more. He feels something almost euphoric, high on endorphins. 

Crowley reaches back and around to completely encircle the angel’s waist, and instinctively scooches forward when Aziraphale moves his legs further apart. Their torso’s press into one another warmly, their bodies already beginning to slot together like puzzle pieces. His forked tongue slithers out, brushing wetly against Aziraphale’s bottom lip, and he’s almost too startled to immediately react when the other doesn’t even hesitate at all to part his lips.

His mouth is hot, hot, hot on the inside, and he tastes, unsurprisingly like cocoa. One of his fangs catches lightly on the angel’s lip and he lets out a little gasp. Crowley swallows the breathy sound greedily and makes a noise of his own when it causes Aziraphale to tangle the hand on the back of his head into his hair. 

Aziraphale lists backwards and Crowley lets out a low hiss as they end up horizontal and his hands move to one splayed out next to messy blonde curls and the other slid down to dig into one soft thigh. It’s this change to such a high contact and extremely intimate position that has them finally pulling apart. 

They pant into one another's mouths, hot breaths fanning out over each others cheeks. 

“Angel...Love you.” He breathes out, voice wavering just a bit. 

Aziraphale smiles, and pets him gently. “I love you too, my dear.”

Crowley lets his head drop to the angel’s shoulder.

“Perhaps we should continue this after we’ve talked a bit more?”

Crowley lets out a breathless huff of laughter. “Yeah, that’s-...yeah. Good.” He slouches down completely, draped over the entity beneath him. “Maybe just...lay for a bit?”

Aziraphale’s arms move around his body to envelop him. “As long as you don’t mind me holding you.”

He hums into his angel’s neck. “I don’t, not at all.”

They’ll have to continue a very serious and heavy conversation soon, and Crowley will have a lot of information to process, but it will be most definitely worth it. For now he’s going to allow himself the bliss of laying in the arms of the being that he’s harbored an intense and growing love for, for over 6000 years. It’s so much more than he ever thought that he would get, but here he is, exhausted after a mental roller coaster and a thorough snogging. 

It seems like perhaps his life may find a way to stick some of its pieces back together. It won’t be perfect, or fast, or easy, but a sense of purpose and no more need to hide the feeling that takes up the majority of his emotional capacity is going to help a hell of a lot. Not to mention the reciprocation of the feelings he’s kept under wraps for millennia. That’s probably going to help a bit too. Probably. Definitely. Yeah.

Crowley nuzzles into Aziraphale’s neck and smiles against the skin there, feeling close to tears again when the angel wiggles and hums happily at the action. This time, if they come, they’ll be happy tears.


End file.
